Free The Laments by George Hagen Page A

“But I thought we didn’t like them.” It was an artful challenge, a matter not of the Howitzers’ character but of Julia’s loyalty. But she had prepared a reply:
    “I was thinking of Will, darling. Wayne is the only boy his age. Wouldn’t it be nice for Will to have a friend?”
    Howard had to agree.
    Will and Wayne took to each other this time. They echoed each other’s demands for cheese, or apple slices; and when sated, they trotted across the sand stark naked and set about building a castle. This task was periodically interrupted as the three-year-olds traded the rude words they knew. Will offered a few toilet expressions, but Wayne had a stunning supply of epithets; when he got to “bastard” and “son of a bitch,” Trixie sprang up and whispered something in his ear. The boys quickly returned to their construction effort.
    “He’s not yours, is he?” said Trixie, watching Will.
    “What?” said Julia.
    “He’s not your son. He’s adopted.”
    Astonished at Trixie’s percipience, Julia waited until the boys ran out of earshot before replying. “Yes, he is adopted.”
    “Wayne’s adopted,” Trixie continued. “Chip and I tried for years. After two stillbirths, I figured that something was wrong in here.” She rested her hand on her belly.
    “I’m so sorry,” said Julia.
    When Trixie said nothing, Julia wondered if her friend’s hard edge had to do with these losses.
    “When I first saw Will at your house,” said Trixie, “I knew we had something special in common.”
    Julia barely had time to discuss this bond with her friend before the boys let out shrieks of alarm.
    An oncoming wave crashed near their castle with a hollow roar, and the surf breached its walls, tearing down the tower they had draped with seaweed and fortified with mussel shells. Will looked to Wayne with tearful dismay, but his companion merely giggled and threw himself onto the ruins, leaving the perfect indent of his bare bottom in the sand. This provoked Will’s first real laugh—a high, cascading gurgle of joy—so surprising to Julia that she bolted upright.
    “What’s wrong?” asked Trixie.
    “He’s never laughed before,” cried Julia.
    Soon, both boys were leaving impressions of their bottoms all over the beach, and howling in delight.
    That evening, as Julia told Howard about the day, Howard realized just how strong Julia’s attachment to Trixie had become. Soon the women were spending every day together. What most astonished Julia were the similarities in their teenage years: Trixie’s parents divorced at about the same time and sent her to a rigid girls’ academy. Yet both of them sought escape in romance—for Julia, it was the idealized sort, in Shakespeare; for Trixie, it was a succession of flawed men.
    THEY TOOK THE BOYS to the ornamental gardens of the guest palace in Manama. The three-year-olds chased each other around the palms as Trixie made a confession.
    “I’ve already told Wayne that he’s adopted.”
    “Good heavens, Trixie, why would you do that? How could he possibly understand? A child needs certainty at this age; if he knows he’s lost his parents once, he might worry that he’ll lose you!”
    “He needs to know the truth,” Trixie replied. “There is enough lying in my life, Julia. I’m not going to lie to my son.”
    Julia said sharply, “Do you mean you lie to Chip?”
    Trixie paused. “Yes—Chip prefers it that way. So I don’t tell him he bores me. And I don’t tell him that Wayne is the only thing keeping us together.” She hesitated, dabbing the shadow of her black eye. “Actually, I
did
once tell him that, but he seems to have gotten over it. Let’s face it: marriage is a compromise.”
    “A compromise?” Julia frowned. “I think of it more as a bond, an alliance. Howard and I love each other. We share a trust, and we share an adventure.”
    “Well, honey, you’re a helluva lucky woman,” Trixie replied.
    Julia might have related Trixie’s